Quenching a particular human thirst

Rain in June. Sweet. And so rare here. I smell and taste soft silver wet air soothing me into that particular kind of breathing available only when a veil of rain touches and rests everywhere ­-- when the thirst of skin, leaf, ground and air is quenched.

I hear sirens, the endless sound waves from Highway 580, bird songs, a pack of children at play outdoors, sounding surprisingly like birds flocking to sunset prayer.

I am touched to be writing this bit of public letter from the heart of my private life, as full of its longings and demands as it is of its dreams, passions, and prayers...prayers for help in valuing and tending life, dance, body, family, world…our embodied stories...

With humans, stories matter. Stories carry our all ­ past, present, seeds for the future.

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